


Shop Girl

by thegizka



Series: Ino Week 2019 [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mild Language, Through the Years, flower shop, yamanaka family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 12:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegizka/pseuds/thegizka
Summary: Moments of Ino's life spent in the Yamanaka flower shop.Written for Ino Week 2019 Day 1:  Through the Years.





	Shop Girl

“Ino, honey, be careful!”

 

Ino’s mother swept her up in her arms and away from the bunches of carnations waiting patiently for arranging and displays, but the baby’s quick fingers managed to snag one of the white blooms in her fists.  She gurgled happily, clapping as soft petals crumpled between chubby fingers.

 

“Gentle,” her exasperated mother sighed, attempting to pry the ruined blossom from her grasp, but the baby’s grip was too strong.

 

“Let her keep it, dear,” Inoichi chuckled.  “It’s already ruined. Besides one flower isn’t a big deal.”

 

“But it’s not just one flower.”  Mrs. Yamanka scanned the prep table.  Nearly a dozen carnations would have to be discarded--blooms ground under baby feet, leaves ripped from stems by curious hands.  “I don’t think I can have her in the shop until she knows how to be gentler with the flowers.”

 

“You would remove the prettiest bud from among your beautiful blooms?”  Inoichi took his daughter and spun her around above his head. She squealed with happiness, spreading her arms but keeping a tight grip on her hostage carnation.  His wife couldn’t help smiling, though it was small and moderated by her concern.

 

“Our daughter is not for sale, but the rest of these flowers are.  I have to make  _ some _ profit.”

 

“Is it really that important?  Now that I’m full time with the intel division, our finances should be more stable.”

 

“Just because you got a promotion doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my work after all the years I’ve spent building this business!  What sort of an example would that be for our daughter?”

 

Inoichi chuckled sheepishly, faced by his wife’s strong pride and the truth.  “You’re right, of course, dear.” He buried his nose in the fistful of flower his child held out to him, smelling soft baby skin and crushed petals.  “No little piggies in the shop until they have the gentleness to match their strength.”

 

\-----

 

“Mom!”  Ino called, waving from across the school grounds.  “I thought Dad was walking me home today.”

 

“He had to go to work.  He said it was very important.”  Mrs. Yamanaka did her best to hide her frustration.  The summons had been last-minute, meaning she had to temporarily close the flower shop to pick up her daughter from school.

 

“Oh, okay.”  It was always amazing how quickly Ino brushed off her disappointment.  “This is Sakura,” she introduced, indicating the shy pink-haired girl hovering behind her.

 

“Hello,” she greeted timidly, her big green eyes nervous.

 

“Hello Sakura.”  Ino’s mother smiled kindly.  “You have beautiful hair.”

 

“Thank you!” she squeaked, cheeks blushing pink like her hair.  That seemed to put her at ease, and she took a step forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ino.

 

“I said she could come over,” the young blonde announced.

 

“Did you get it okayed with Sakura’s parents?”

 

“Mhm.  My mom said I could,” Sakura explained.

 

“Okay then,” Mrs. Yamanaka agreed, and they began their walk to the flower shop.

 

“We had a special lesson today Mom!”  Ino was already talking a mile a minute, confidence and excitement rolling off her in waves.  It wasn’t hard to see how an unsure girl like Sakura would be caught in the pull of her personality.  “It was all about flowers! I knew everything, of course, but Sakura was good at it, too. The Hokage was even there and we got to give him our flowers.  He looks pretty old, but he has a nice smile, even if it’s wrinkly.”

 

“Ino,” her mother warned.

 

“What?  I said he has a nice smile.  Anyway,” she continued before her mother could follow up on the correction, “I bet Sakura and I could run the shop now by ourselves.”

 

“Really?”  Mrs. Yamanaka raised an eyebrow.  “What do you think Sakura?”

 

The girl looked bewildered--at the prospect of running the shop, of having her opinion asked, or both, it was hard to tell.

 

“I think I’d need lots more practice first.”

 

“Nah, you’d be fine,” Ino declared, confidence undaunted.  “Like I said, you’re really good.”

 

“Well if Sakura wants to practice more, why don’t we just practice today, okay?”  She unlocked the shop and flipped the sign back to  _ OPEN _ , hoping her short absence hadn’t deterred any potential customers.

 

They spent the afternoon in the flower shop, the girls showing her what they had learned and she sharing some of her own knowledge with them.  She let them pick the flowers, quizzed them on their meanings, watched them arrange the blooms and greens, and taught them how to tie the ribbons and select the best vases.  It was surprising how much Ino had managed to learn through observation, and Sakura was quick to pick up the skills. Perhaps it was time to let her daughter help out in the shop.

 

\-----

 

“I can’t believe it!”  Ino shoved dirt around the petunias she was potting.

 

“Careful, Ino,” her mother warned, but her daughter’s mind was beyond reach of such gentle admonitions.

 

“Somehow Sakura and her billboard brow end up on the same team as Sasuke and I don’t!”

 

“But I thought you and Sakura were friends.”  Inoichi looked confused as he carefully walked a bonsai to a shelf.

 

“As if,” Ino growled, rough fingers packing down dirt.  Her mother just shook her head when she met her husband’s quizzical gaze.  Long hours with the intel division had made him miss most of Ino’s crush on Sasuke and the ensuing fallout with Sakura.

 

“Poor Sasuke has to deal with her and Naruto,” Ino continued to lament, “and I’m stuck with lazy Shikamaru and fat Chouji.”

 

“Ino!” her mother barked, forceful and sudden.  It snapped her daughter out of her self-pity and dragged the entire shop into stunned silence.  “That is  _ not _ how you speak about others!  Especially your friends.”

 

She could see a glitter of shame beneath the frustration in her daughter’s eyes, but she continued to frown.

 

“You wanted to be a shinobi, which entails working with your teammates to protect this village, regardless of who they are.  You don’t have the luxury of choosing with whom and when you do the work. If you can’t do that, you can’t be a shinobi. And regardless, you never have the right to speak ill of someone else.

 

“Now,” she continued, voice softening a little and easing some of the tension in the air, “unless you can speak respectfully, work in silence, and unless you can be more gentle with the flowers, I think you should go home for the day.”

 

Ino glared at the pot of petunias.  The soil was packed too tightly, and she had snapped one of the stems without noticing.  The purple bloom hung defeatedly over the edge of the pot. She pressed her lips together, and without a word, she left the shop, closing the door with a little more force than she usually did.

 

Inoichi sighed heavily, but his wife merely closed her eyes, collecting herself for a moment before continuing her work on an arrangement requested by a friend.  Inoichi gazed helplessly at the ceiling.

 

“How are we going to survive her teenage years?”

 

\-----

 

“No.”

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed.  Her mother didn’t even look up from the ribbon she was measuring and cutting.

 

“What do you mean, ‘no’?  I’ve already arranged everything with Sakura and Lady Hokage.”

 

“I mean no, you can’t.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Mrs. Yamanaka put down the scissors and finally faced her daughter.

 

“You don’t have time to train as a medical ninja.  You’re already busy with regular missions and the shop.  Adding medical training on top of that would be too much.”

 

“No it wouldn’t,” Ino insisted.  “Sakura has managed to fit it in.”

 

“Sakura’s parents don’t need her help running a flower shop.”

 

“Then hire someone part-time.”

 

“Excuse me?”  It was her mother’s turn to narrow her eyes.

 

“It’s not like you and Dad don’t make enough money, though I can always contribute some of my mission money if that’s your concern.”

 

“I suppose you think it’s simply a matter of getting someone to watch the shop.  But you’re not considering how long it could take to interview and find a suitable candidate, not to mention training them.  You have years of experience already.”

 

“I’m not going to totally abandon the shop.  I can help out a little. But I  _ am  _ going to learn medical ninjutsu, Mom.  That’s my priority.”

 

“You’re just like your father. Neither of you seems to care about the work I put into this business.  As soon as there’s a whiff of some sort of ninja work, you abandon the shop.”

 

Ino knew this was a sore spot for her mother.  As she grew up, she had noticed more and more how difficult it could be for a civilian to be married to a shinobi.  She was starting to see the years of worry and frustration written in the small wrinkles on her mother’s face. She was too proud to talk about how hard it could be, but her daughter knew enough to sympathize.  Still, she wasn’t willing to budge on this matter.

 

“I am like my father because I am a shinobi.”  Ino crossed her arms and drew herself up, proud and fierce.  “Our first duty is to protect this village and its people, and that includes each other.  What would you have me do if I’m on a mission and Chouji or Shikamaru get hurt? Or it’s me and Dad and something happens to him?  Or the village is under attack and you’re caught in the crossfire? I will not watch helplessly as those I have sworn to protect die, not if there’s something I can do to help them.  I am becoming a medical ninja because it will make me the best shinobi I can be. I’m sorry it’s inconvenient for you, but I have made up my mind.”

 

Mrs. Yamanaka watched silently as her daughter left the shop.  She continued standing there, unmoving, as her thoughts spun. When had her confident, babbling toddler turned into this beautiful, strong young woman?  She realized now that she could no longer hold onto the hope that her daughter would choose to leave the shinobi life and its dangers. It was clear Ino preferred her ninja work to the civilian job in the flower shop, and she had to admit that it suited her.  She was thriving. Her mother sighed, simultaneously proud and broken-hearted, before turning back to her work.

 

\------

 

“Ino.”

 

She turned away from the arrangement she was working on--white chrysanthemums and lilies, red tulips--to see Sakura leaning in the doorway.  Her green eyes were deep with sadness and sympathy.

 

“Can I help?”

 

“Sure.”  Her voice was soft, her throat raw.  She turned back to the flowers, and they worked in silence together, trimming stems and weaving wreaths.  The work was a balm. Ino had cried a long time the day it happened, and she was sure she would shed many tears at the funeral.  But the flower arrangements seemed somehow separate from it all. She had made so many sympathy wreaths and mourning baskets that it was easy to let herself feel numb, to think of it as just another order, to ignore who the funeral was for.

 

_ Asuma-sensei is dead… _

 

It hit her at unexpected moments, the weight of this truth.  She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut against the sight of his face, a final cigarette between bloody lips.  She clenched her hands to guard her fingers against the memory of soaked fabric and wounds her medical ninjutsu wasn’t strong enough to heal.  She tried to close her heart to the feeling of him slipping away and the emptiness he left behind.

 

“Ino.”

 

Sakura’s voice was soft, her hand warm as it wrapped around her clenched fist.  Ino opened blue her eyes and met her friend’s green ones, finding in them sorrow and strength, pain and love.  Sakura wrapped her arms around her, and Ino leaned into the embrace, borrowing her friend’s strength until the helplessness and memories passed.

 

When they pulled apart, their eyes were clear from tears.  They returned to their work quietly, back to pretending these were just the same sort of funeral flowers as always.

 

“We’re going after them,” Ino said suddenly in a voice so low and fierce it seemed out of place surrounded by the fragile flowers and her gentle fingers.  “We’re going to find those Akatsuki bastards and make them pay for what they did to him.”

 

“Ino.”

 

When Ino turned to her friend there was no grief.  There was strength and power. There was a burning will.

 

\-----

 

Ino’s mother was crying.

 

It wasn’t the body-quaking sobs of a broken heart, not the ugly unending crying Ino had done when her friends had been faced with the truth about Sasuke.  Somehow she had known that Sasuke--brillaint, beautiful, broken Sasuke--was out of their reach, but acknowledging that truth had been more painful than she had expected.  It had been worse than the village being decimated by Pain. Thanks to Naruto, no one had died. They could rebuild buildings. But accepting Sasuke couldn’t be saved--that he was their friend and, therefore, their responsibility--had a finality to it that had torn her apart.  Sakura had been suffering but wouldn’t let herself cry, so Ino had cried for the both of them. Part of her was relieved Sasuke had escaped, but his attempt to kill his former teammates seemed to drive home his refusal to be saved. It only prolonged the ache in her heart.

 

But there was more immediate pain to face.  Her mother was too proud to give herself over to emotion, even when sending her husband and daughter off to war.  Only a few tears traced paths down her cheeks.

 

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t known it was coming.  After Pain’s attack, they had suspected it might come to this.  The village had been chaotically busy between rebuilding and stocking up on supplies.  Ino had spent long days making food pills and brushing up on her medical ninjutsu. She spared what time she could to help plant and cultivate flowers--peace lilies, carnations, flowers in red and white, flowers of love and loss and remembrance.  There would be more funerals than usual in the coming weeks.

 

Ino felt both young and old standing with her parents in the bare structure of their rebuilding shop.  She had no experience of war, just a collection of isolated missions and hours of practice honing her abilities.  She felt unprepared, but she recognized a duty to protect this shinobi world. She would be fighting for her future and the dreams of the generations after her.  It gave strength to her will. And she was fighting to protect those who could not, like her mother, who seemed fragile standing in the skeleton of their shop, its beams outlining their vision of the future.

 

“Come home, both of you.”  Though she was crying, her voice was strong, her words a command.  “Fight, win, and come home.”

 

Though she wasn’t a ninja, Ino could see the Will of Fire blazing within her mother.

 

“I will,” she promised, hugging her, letting their strength warm each other.  She felt her father’s arms encircle them both as he promised the same, smelled the sweetness of sun and flowers and her parents, the scent of home.  She knew what it was to love.

 

\-----

 

The shop was cold and silent.  Ino didn’t bother turning on the light, moving quietly through the gray morning sunshine filtering through the windows.  She wasn’t sure if the earliness of the hour or the layer of dust was making everything look dull, but felt too numb to really care.

 

All of the cut flowers had withered.  Someone had thrown them away, leaving empty water-streaked vases standing on the shelves.  That same someone--probably Sakura--must have watered the potted plants as they, at least, were still alive, though most needed pruning.  That wasn’t much of a surprise. The last time anyone had worked in the shop had been two months ago.

 

Her friends had taken charge of the funeral flowers for the village.  The prep tables still had dried leaves, dropped petals, and the edges of cut ribbons giving witness to their work.  They had dedicated their time to helping her and her mother when they couldn’t do it. They had brought comfort to the village when they needed comfort themselves.  Her heart ached with their love.

 

Losing her father had been a different experience than losing Asuma.  The loss was more raw. Where before she could distance herself from the reality, now it confronted her every day.  Echoes of Inoichi followed her around the house and through the village. She couldn’t escape the reminders in every sympathetic gaze.  His legacy of service to Konoha and its people was evident everywhere. His love for his family was eternal. His loss was an aching emptiness she felt in every molecule of her being.

 

The aftermath of the war had shown her how diverse grief was.  Her mother moved around the house like a ghost, barely stepping outside, gently turning away visitors.  It was like she couldn’t process the loss, like she was still waiting for him to come home so their lives together could restart.  Ino had even heard her sobbing in her bedroom several nights--her strong, proud mother who never sobbed. Ino had spent hours sobbing, too, crying until she had no more tears.  But she also couldn’t stay in the house. She needed to be around people still bright and alive to remind her that they had won, that this shinobi world would have a future. She needed to remember that she had a future, too.

 

Shikamaru was hard to find in those post-war days.  He would disappear to the woods on the Nara estate for long hours, or spend time with Kurenai and Mirai reflecting on the lessons he had learned from his sensei and his father.  He sharpened his grief to a deadly focus, burying himself in rebuilding and reforming Konoha, but never talking about what had been sacrificed. This troubled her and Chouji, but Ino’s loss was too raw to be able to help him yet.

 

Hinata had accepted Neji’s death.  She would sometimes cry when talking about him, but she was happy that he was finally at peace.  Lee would wail openly and swear his friend’s sacrifice would never be forgotten. Tenten never said anything, but Ino could see tears in her eyes and anger in the press of her lips.  She understood the frustration that Neji had been robbed of his future, and that everyone seemed okay with it.

 

Ino found it hard to be around Sakura for a while.  She knew her best friend felt sorrow at the loss of so many.  As a medical ninja, she had watched death take numerous ninja from her arms.  But she had managed to both accept the grief and move forward to the next task.  And she had saved Naruto and Sasuke. Her strength was nearly too much for Ino. Sakura wept, but she was also happy.  Ino felt like she would shatter into a million pieces at any moment, or blow away with the lightest puff of air. She wondered if this was how Sakura had felt when Sasuke left, when he had turned away countless times before he was saved.

 

Seeing how this war had changed her friends was painful, but it also gave her strength.  The battles were over, but the fight to realize a better future was ongoing. So she continued to spend time with them, to listen to their hopes and share in their dreams, wrapping them around herself as a comfort to her grief.  She had dreams, too. Her mother had dreams. There was work to be done to make them a reality. She couldn’t grieve forever. Her father wouldn’t want her to.

 

So here she was, stepping foot in the flower shop that had been closed for months.  It had never been high on her list of priorities, but it was her mother’s dream, one that Inoichi had supported.  It was a place where their family had spent hours working together, sharing their lives with each other and the village.  It was a part of her home, and she had fought for it, and her father had died for it, and it had been closed long enough. It was time to open it back up.  It was time to continue living.

 

\-----

 

Mrs. Yamanka’s fingers ached as she tied the ribbon around the bouquet.  Her joints were hurting more and more lately. It was making working in the flower shop more challenging.  She had hired part-time help, but some days she felt too tired to keep up with the demand. She was considering shortening the shop’s hours.  Ino would protest, but her daughter was so busy settling into married life, tending to clan duties, working with the intel division, and helping at the hospital that she had no time to spare for the flower shop.

 

Mrs. Yamanaka was proud of her daughter.  She had become a strong yet gentle woman. Ino had helped a lot of people rebuild their lives after the war, herself included.  And she was continuing her father’s work in protecting the village against spies and traitors. Inoichi would be proud, too.

 

“Mom!”

 

As though summoned by her thoughts, her daughter burst into the shop, dragging her husband behind her by the hand.  Sai looked a bit bewildered, but happy to be caught up in whatever excitement had gripped Ino. His levelness was a good balance to his wife’s passion, and though it had taken a while to warm up to him, Mrs. Yamanaka felt a real fondness for her son-in-law.

 

“Mom, I have to tell you something!”

 

“What?”

 

Ino’s eyes were glowing.  “We’re having a baby!”

 

Her mother’s own eyes widened, and she glanced at Sai for confirmation.

 

“It’s true, Mother.”  He smiled. “We just came from the hospital.  Shizune confirmed it.”

 

“You’re going to be a grandmother!” Ino squealed, hugging her mother tightly.  She returned the affection, mind still trying processing the news.

 

“This is wonderful!”

 

“Isn’t it?” Ino agreed, pulling away.  “I think it’s going to be a boy. Shizune says it’s much too early to tell, but I can tell…”

 

Mrs. Yamanaka watched her daughter talking excitedly, Sai smiling and nodding as he listened to her.  It seemed like a moment ago she had been a wide-eyed baby curious about the world, and now she was having a baby of her own.  Where had those years gone? Her pretty bud was now a beautiful bloom.


End file.
